Pen Pal

New Year’s Eve

In the candlelight, Aidan’s face is as beautiful as an angel’s.

“How are you so pretty?” I murmur, tracing a finger across the angle of his cheek then down to his jaw. His dark beard is soft and springy under my fingertip.

We’re lying in bed at my house, facing each other, the lengths of our nude bodies aligned from chest to thighs. My feet are tucked between his calves. One of his biceps cradles my head. He’s using the other arm to keep me bound tight against him.

Gazing at me with soft eyes, he says, “I’m not. You’re just drunk with afterglow.”

My laugh is low and throaty. “Is that like beer goggles but with sex?”

“Exactly. Your orgasm has made your vision fuzzy. In reality, I look like a warthog.”

Smiling, I kiss the tip of his nose. “You do actually bear a striking resemblance to a warthog. I’ve been trying to spare your feelings by not bringing it up.”

Nuzzling my neck, he whispers, “Speaking of bringing things up…”

He flexes his hips, pressing his erection against my thigh.

I laugh again, feeling high and reckless, as if I’m standing at the top of a tall cliff, about to tumble over the edge. “Have you never heard of the refractory period?”

“I have, but my dick hasn’t.”

“Clearly.”

He quirks a brow. “Are you complaining?”

That makes me grin. “No, sir. I love it.”

He rolls over on top of me. Lowering his head, he kisses me softly, murmuring against my lips, “Say that again, bunny.”

“The sir part or the love part?”

“Both.” His eyes darken, and his voice drops. “But leave out the ‘no’ and the ‘it.’”

I have to think about that for a moment. When I understand what he wants me to say, my cheeks heat.

But I give him what he wants. Without reservation and without regret, the way he needs it.

Gazing into his eyes, my face hot and my heart pounding, I whisper, “I love sir.”

He moistens his lips. His breathing goes erratic. Heavy and warm on top of me, he feels like the anchor that will keep me steady and the harbor that will keep me safe, no matter how strong the storm.

Rubbing his thumb slowly back and forth over the slope of my cheek, he says in a husky voice, “And I love my sweet little rabbit, who made me grateful for every day I walked through hell because that dark path eventually led to her.”

I breathe out a soft sob, but he silences it as he kisses me.

I think he’s going to push inside me, but he rolls to his back instead, taking me along so I’m lying atop him. Holding my hair back from my face, he says casually, “There’s supposed to be fireworks at midnight tonight.”

“Wow.”

“What?”

“Talk about a disappointing segue. I thought you were about to make love to me again.”

He chuckles. “I was, but then I got the genius idea of taking the boat out so there would be fireworks exploding overhead the next time I make you come.”

“Ah. Yes, that would be a memorable way to ring in the new year.”

We grin at each other. He says, “I bought chocolate and champagne. Just in case you were up for it.”

“In what universe would I not be up for you feeding me champagne and chocolate under a fireworks-filled sky after giving me a mind-blowing orgasm?”

“Oh, so I’m feeding you now, too?” He rolls his eyes in mock dismay. “I have to do all the work around here.”

I press a kiss to his lips and whisper, “Poor baby.”

He tosses me onto my back and growls, “Careful. Warthogs eat bunnies for dinner.” Then he nips at my neck and tickles me, making me scream.

Laughing, he rises. I watch, smiling, as he goes into the closet. He emerges clothed soon thereafter.

“Get that sweet behind moving,” he says, shooting me a wicked grin as he leaves the room. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

I pop up from bed and dress as quickly as I can, pulling on jeans and a thick sweater over a long-sleeved shirt. It’s not raining tonight, but with the temperature in the low fifties, it will be cold on the water. I shove my feet into a pair of boots and head downstairs, grinning.

It’s strange how light joy makes your body feel. If I concentrated, I bet I could float right off the ground.

I find Aidan in the kitchen loading the champagne, chocolates, and a pair of champagne glasses into a picnic basket. I tease, “Look at you, so domestic.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is romantic.”

I go up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. Resting my cheek against his broad back, I murmur, “Actually, the word I’m looking for is amazing. No, wonderful. No, that’s not it either. Hmm…”

“Glorious,” he supplies, turning to embrace me. “I’ll take spectacular, too.”

“Yeah, I bet you would.”

He kisses me, cradling my face in his hands. It’s a sweet kiss, but it quickly turns heated. I pull out of his arms, laughing.

“Okay, Fight Club, let’s get this show on the road, or we’ll never make it out of the kitchen.”

“So bossy,” he says, shaking his head. He’s trying to frown, but not quite managing it.

“I’ll get a couple blankets. Meet you at the back door.”

I leave him in the kitchen and go hunting through the linen closet in the guest bedroom for the throws kept folded in a stack. Choosing two that are thick and soft, I wrap one around my shoulders and carry the other to where Aidan stands waiting at the door with the wicker basket in hand.

When I drape the blanket across his shoulders, he makes a face. “You realize warthogs don’t get cold, right? We’re way too tough for that.”

I wave him aside. “Be quiet, macho man. You’ll thank me when we’re on the water.”

We head across the lawn and down to the rocky beach toward the Eurydice tied at the end of the dock. The air is fresh and cold. It smells strongly of pine sap, wet bark, and moss. Above us, the sky is a bowl of deep sapphire sprinkled with stars. It’s still and quiet except for the crickets serenading us with their evening song. Aidan grasps my hand and squeezes it, glancing down to smile at me.

If there is a heaven, I hope it’s exactly like this.

Aidan helps me onto the stern of the boat, then hands me the picnic basket. He hops over the edge of the hull and unties the ropes from the cleats on the side while I climb the narrow stairs up to the bridge. Elevated above the main and lower decks, it offers an unrestricted view of the water.

Moonlight shines off the dark, undulating waves. The Sound is calm tonight and the skies are clear, which will make for spectacular fireworks viewing.

I run the blower for a minute to clear fumes from the engine compartment, then turn the batteries on and fire up the engines. After checking the gauges to make sure we’re good to go, I call down to Aidan, “You ready?”

He doesn’t answer.

Walking over to the stairs, I call more loudly, “Aidan?”

Still no response. He must not be able to hear me over the engines.

Because the stairs are so steep, going down the steps is slightly more awkward than going up. I have to climb down carefully, facing inward and grasping the metal railings on either side. When my feet finally touch the deck, I turn around, expecting to see Aidan in the seating area on the stern.

He’s not there. The picnic basket sits alone on the table.

Frowning, I glance inside the main cabin…and freeze in horror.

Aidan stands stiffly on one side of the cabin, staring at the man standing across from him, about six feet away.

It’s Michael.

Wearing the same gray trench coat and hat I’ve seen him in several times over the past few months when I’ve caught glimpses of him following me, he’s thin and unkempt, with hollowed cheeks and dark shadows under his wild eyes.

His arms hang by his sides.

In one trembling hand, he grips a silver pistol.

I suck in a breath. My heartbeat slams into overdrive. A cold tremor runs through me, chilling me all the way down to my bones.

My voice high with stress, I say, “Michael, what are you doing?”

Eyes rolling, he replies in a hushed whisper, “He’s with the government, Kayla. He’s with the CIA. He wants information from me. He wants my equations.”

Terrified, I swallow and look at Aidan. He stands perfectly still, every muscle in his body tensed.

My mind is a rabid animal, scratching sharp claws at the inside of my skull.

Where did he get a gun? Does he know how to shoot it? Is it even loaded? He looks homeless—where has he been living? Oh God, has he been sleeping on the boat?

Though I’m panicked and desperate, I try to keep my voice as calm and soothing as I can. “No, Michael. He’s not with the CIA.”

Spittle flies from his lips when he screams, “He’s with the CIA! He’s trying to steal my equations!”

He jerks his arm up and points the gun at Aidan’s chest.

I’m so frightened, I think I might faint.

Aidan remains perfectly still, his face impassive and his breathing shallow. I see wheels turning behind his eyes and am terrified of what might happen next.

Swallowing a sob, I lift my hands and start pleading. “No, please, listen to me. He’s not with the government. I promise you, he’s not. He’s in construction, okay? He’s my friend.”

Michael licks his cracked lips. He shifts his weight restlessly from foot to foot. That hand holding the pistol is now shaking hard.

Then he slices his wild gaze in my direction.

“He’s…he’s your friend?”

I grasp my mistake when Michael turns the gun toward me. I jerk back a step, a scream caught in my throat.

Aidan says firmly, “No. We’re not friends.”

“She just said you were!”

“I’ve been lying to her.”

Michael looks back and forth between us, then jerks the gun back in Aidan’s direction.

“Lying?”

“So I could get close to her. So I could get your equations.”

Aidan looks at me. What I see in his eyes makes me want to scream, it’s so stupid. So stupid and reckless and so fucking like him, the self-sacrificing fool.

No, God, no, this isn’t happening, this can’t be happening.

He looks back at Michael and says calmly, “Let her go. You and I can talk better if she’s not here.”

“No, Aidan, I won’t—”

“Be quiet, Kayla.”

“I’m not getting off this boat!”

“You are. Right now. Do it.”

Michael’s wild gaze darts back and forth between us. In his eyes, I see nothing of the man I was married to. The psychosis has swallowed him whole.

My pulse is a roar of thunder in my ears.

How can I distract him? What can I hit him with? The fire extinguisher! It’s right over there!

Seeing me looking around in panic, Michael suddenly screams, “You’re with the CIA, too!”

“She’s just scared,” says Aidan. “You’re pointing a gun at her. Anyone would be scared.”

Panting, Michael hisses, “You’re not scared.”

“That’s because of my CIA training. Kayla, get the fuck off this boat.”

Goddammit, Aidan, no! No! Stop this!

Tears stream down my face. My vision is blurred by them. My breathing is labored. I take a halting step backward, then another, hysteria gripping me in a cold, crushing hand.

I can call 9-1-1. If I can make it to the house and Aidan can keep Michael talking, I can call the police and get them here before anything awful happens.

I stop short when Michael says in the barest of whispers, “No. She’s in the CIA, too. I see it on your face.” He looks at me. His voice rises. “You both have to die!”

When I sob and clap my hands over my mouth, Aidan says in a commanding voice, “Nobody has to die. Just put the gun down and we can talk about it.”

Rocking back and forth from foot to foot, his hand shaking and all the whites of his eyes showing, Michael screams, “One of you has to die you have to choose right now who dies who dies who dies if you don’t choose I have to kill you both!”

He points the gun at me again. He points it right at my face. The only reason I don’t topple over is because terror has turned my muscles to stone.

Aidan says, “If we choose, you’ll only shoot one of us?”

My heart stops beating then. It stops dead in my chest, stalled by horror. “No, Aidan, stop it, don’t say another word—”

“Michael?”

“Aidan, no! Stop it!”

Michael screams, “Yes!” and cocks the hammer of the pistol with his thumb.

Aidan looks at me. His heart shines in his eyes. He says softly, “I love you, bunny. I’ll love you until the end of time.”

Then he looks back at Michael and says words I’ll never be able to unhear. They’ll echo in my head for all eternity.

“Shoot me, then.”

Time changes. Everything takes on the surreal quality of a dream. I see what happens next unfold in front of me like a movie played in slow motion with the sound warped and the colors blurred, dragging by at half speed.

Michael swings his arm toward Aidan.

Aidan lunges.

A fireball explodes from the end of Michael’s gun.

Aidan’s head snaps back.

The forward motion of his body stops abruptly, as if he’s been slammed against a wall.

A small red hole appears in the center of his forehead.

Blood and chunks of brain matter splatter the window behind him.

He falls back, his eyes open and his mouth slack.

Collapsing onto the sofa, he lies still and silent, gazing sightlessly at the ceiling as a dark stain creeps across the beige cushion under his head.

In the night sky above us, fireworks burst into sprays of color with a crackle and boom.

My scream is a living thing. A creature of horror, disbelief, and heartbreak, clawing its way up my throat. I fly across the space between us with that scream surrounding me everywhere, vibrating in my ears and in my head, inside all the hidden sacred places in my soul that only he has ever touched.

I fall on top of Aidan’s lifeless body, screaming and screaming the same thing over and over, the thing every cell in my body screams along with me.

No. No. No. No. No.

He doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t respond to any of my desperate pleas or the kisses I rain over his cheeks and lips.

He can’t.

He’s gone.

Sobbing hysterically, I cling to him until something hard and heavy bashes me in the back of the head.

Pain shoots through my skull. I see stars. For a moment, my vision goes black.

When light fills my eyes again, I’m on my back and Michael is dragging me by my wrists across the wood deck toward the swim step at the back of the boat.

My words come out slurred. “Michael. What are you doing?”

I can’t make out what he mumbles to himself. It’s incoherent, babbling nonsensical words spoken between labored breaths as he drags me away from Aidan’s body. I try to pull my wrists from his grip, but don’t have the strength.

Hot liquid trickles down my neck. Blood. He must’ve hit me with something heavy.

The gun. He pistol-whipped me with the gun.

More fireworks explode overhead. I see them above us, starbursts of color painting the midnight sky like the domed roof of a cathedral. Smoke drifts over the water. Somewhere far away, a dog barks.

Michael drags me to the edge of the stern and rolls me off.

The water is a cold black shock, cutting through my stupor like a blade. I go under for a moment before starting to kick and flail. I break the surface, sputtering and gasping, disoriented and panicking, fear as sharp as a knife shoved between my ribs.

I cough and scream. The boat’s engines hum and rumble. Michael looms over me on the step, laughing maniacally now, his lips peeled back from his teeth.

I flail at the step, missing it by inches. Michael drops to his knees and reaches out. I grasp his hand, thinking he’s offering help, but quickly discover he’s not.

He grabs me by the throat and squeezes.

He pushes me down and holds me under.

Even underwater, I can hear his crazy laugh.

Something slips out of his shirt pocket. It splashes into the water and tumbles past my face, small and round, silver and glinting.

It’s his lucky 1937 buffalo nickel, the one he never left home without.

I kick and struggle. My heart hammers against my rib cage. Salt water stings my eyes and burns my lungs. Fireworks illuminate the surface of the water in a shimmering kaleidoscope of colors.

I can’t get his fingers off my neck. I claw at his hands, thrashing and coughing, smelling diesel fuel and gunpowder, smoke and sea and blood.

Aidan.

Aidan.

Aidan, I love you. I love you.

My body is heavy. The churning water above me stills. I drift, my hair floating around my head, my eyes turned toward the surface, my hand outstretched for help that doesn’t come.

A brilliant bloom of color suffuses the sea above me in shades of red, green, and gold, then the fireworks fade, and everything goes black.

My heart throbs one final time before stopping for good.